


Yodeling at the Moon (Me to You)

by ModernArt2012



Series: Otayuri Week 2k17 [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Because none of them know what to do, Chris Giacometti is a Skating Cupid (tm), Chris is an excellent Wingman, Fluff, He smh's at Russian Skaters, In any aspect of a relationship, M/M, Swiss Alps, YODELING, a wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:37:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9977744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernArt2012/pseuds/ModernArt2012
Summary: Day Four- Long DistanceThere are mountains, a Wingman/Love Consultant, and yodeling.I promised yodeling. There is yodeling. Howl I tried.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [howlingmoonrise (TheDarkStoryteller)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkStoryteller/gifts).



> Because there is not enough yodeling ever.
> 
> the song is "Love in Moscow" sung by Yulya 
> 
> links: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3x8c1JqNY-A
> 
> http://www.deezer.com/track/64659085

“ _Mon petit chaton_ , you’re never going to be able to glare the Alps into submission.”

 

“Fuck off, you massive pervert.”

 

“I would, but you’re in my favorite fucking spot.” Chris punctuated his sentence with a flirty wink, casting doubt onto Yuri’s firmly held belief that _Chris did not have outdoor sex in the area Yuri was sitting in_. Just to be contrary, he held his ground and did not budge. Chris, the bastard, chuckled and settled himself beside Yuri.

 

The sound of belled cows far below filled the air, carried on the wind and buoyed up the slopes of the mountain Chris - or his _whatever_ \- had a chalet on. The rocky slopes stretched down far into the distant town, worlds away at this height.

 

Yuri broke the companionable silence first, “Aren’t you supposed to be doing _wedding shit_ right now or something?”

 

Chris laughed, loud and full, and it seemed to fill the air further than at normal altitudes. He quickly sobered, “I am, but at the same time ....” He quickly pursed his lips and then dropped the expression, looking almost guilty.

 

Yuri clicked his tongue, irritated, resettling himself into the curl over his knees, arms crossed and moody. “ _Goddamned Viktor_ , right?”

 

Chris blinked blankly at the hooded teen. “No, it was the florist.”

 

A fine blonde eyebrow ticked upwards, “Just the florist?”

 

Chris huffed, “The florist _and_ the baker _and_ the tailor. All at once.”

 

Yuri snorted, “This is why Russian weddings are better. Apply for a date with the registry, go register on the appointed date, then throw a party.”

 

Chris frowned, “Then why was Viktor talking about a ransom?”

 

Yuri waved his hand in the universal _extraneous things_ gesture, “ Eh, more of the old tradition than required. Because Baldie can’t help but be stupidly romantic in all the wrong ways.” Yuri paused, then blurted wild-eyed and horrified, “ _Please don’t let Viktor demand a ransom.”_

 

Chris nodded gravely, “I threatened him with refusing to let him anywhere near Yuuri for the rest of the wedding if he tried.”

 

Yuri grinned, a quicksilver sliver of a thing, then settled back into the companionable silences Chris seemed to carry in his bones. Well, that and wildly flagrant sexuality oozing everywhere.

 

It could have been minutes or it could have been hours later when Chris asked, “You know, _mon chaton,_ they say that the only people who stare out at the Alps are the lovelorn.”

 

Yuri turned his head to stare at the blond balefully, unimpressed. “No one says that.”

 

Chris gracefully shrugged, “No, but I do, and I am a ‘they’. So tell me, _mon petit chat_ , what’s got you frustrated?” When Yuri didn’t respond, he nodded sagely, “Ah, it is the issue of Love. The long distance relationship?”

 

The glare leveled at him told Chris everything. “Do you know what ‘yodeling’ is?”

 

Yuri’s blank stare was invitation enough, “It’s a type of singing, originating here in the mountains to communicate across distances. Very soothing. Want to learn?”

 

Sensing more than hearing the denial, Chris carried on, “The basic theory is to repeatedly and rapidly change register of singing from the lowest register to the highest pitch. Additionally, there are two different types of yodeling, one similiar to singing with words, and the other with just pitch changes with no words. Given you ability to split the air with curses without taking many breaths, perhaps you’ll have the lung capacity for the latter.” He forcefully clapped Yuri on the back, “After all, you’re not used to the high mountain air.”

 

“ _Po'shyol 'na hui,”_ Yuri threw back from where he was sprawled on the ground.

 

“Oh, Viktor never taught me that one! Remind me to ask him about it sometime?” Chris smiled easily. “In any case, let’s master the basics of yodeling, then add words! That last phrase should yodel perfectly!”

 

* * *

 

 

“So, where is Yurio? I haven’t felt his moping all day!” Viktor genially smiled over at Chris, from where he was doing his best koala impression.

 

“He’s busy screaming into a valley.” Chris smiled back at his long-time friend, sipping delicately at his espresso.

 

“Chris, why is Yurio screaming into a valley?” Yuuri tentatively asked, fingers batting uselessly at Viktor’s, which were stealing his small piece of sponge cake.

 

Chris stared at the pair guilelessly, “You dragged the poor _chaton_ all the way to Switzerland for a wedding without thinking about the fact he’s on the outs with his sweetie? I knew the pair of you were frankly terrible with dealing with emotions, but this is a new low.” Then Chris turned back to watching his fiancé argue with the baker about the (frankly) appalling orange sponge.

 

* * *

 

 

Otabek slowly climbs the slope, having been directed by the party at the chalet, but also following the sound of a very angry, yet soulful warbling of Russian.

 

[ _Po Moskovskim tikhim pereulkam_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3x8c1JqNY-A)

_Zimnim vyecherkom,_

_My s taboyu stol'ko raz brodili,_

_Vyeselilis' i grustili,_

_Sorilis',mirilis' i lyubili,_

_Ty i ya - vdvoyom._

 

The sound reverberated around the path, surely further down the slopes they could hear rapidly pitch changing Russian that vaguely reminded Otabek of _tahrir_ singers who came by Almaty every now and again.

 

_Na bulvare Gogolyevskom milom_

_Staraya skamya._

_Na skameike etoyi my sidyeli_

_Dyen' za dnyom,nyedyelyu za nyedyeleyi,_

_Vsyo v glaza drug drugu my glyadeli,_

_Ty de, ya._

 

The singer was gaining confidence and Otabek had to pause, because even for the screechy changes in pitch, the song was definitely purely longing. He sighed to himself, Yuri could never do anything the easy way.

 

_Park Kultury vyecherom vesenim,_

_Pyervyie tsvyety,_

_Pomnyu kak e taboyu rastavalis' ,_

_Tselovalis',abnimalis',_

_Pomnit' do mogily abeshohalis',_

_Ya i ty._

 

Otabek passed the final curve that came before the end of the trail, and found what he expected: Yuri, out of breath from the higher altitude air and at the highest accessible point on the mountain, singing.  His back was to the mouth of the trail, so Otabek just paused and listened.

 

_Vidno,nikogda nam nye pridyotsa_

_Povstryechatsa vnov'._

_Gdye ty,chto s taboyu ya nye znayu,_

_No ya chasto vspominayu,_

_Dryevniye Moskovskiye Kuranty,_

_Pyervuyu lyubov._

 

Yuri was doubled over, panting, overexerted and tired. Otabek cleared his throat, to let his normally more aware friend know he was there. Yuri startled, turning towards the path, then locked his most poisonous glare into place. “Oh, it’s you.”

 

Otabek smiled softly, “Last I checked, it is me.”

 

“What are you doing here.” Ah, it was the Russian punk if full force.

 

“Well, Chris is getting married, and I was invited. You tend to attend things you RSVP’d to.”

 

“Don’t play stupid. I meant, _what are you doing here?_ ” Yuri was clenching his jaw and the words came out gritted.

 

“Oh.” He cringed, because this question was indubitably harder. “Um, I’m not sure how to say this...” He scratched at the back of his head, awkward in the ways he used to be, back when he was always new and always a few competitions from moving rinks.

 

“Just spit it out, so we can get back to being awkward and ignoring each other.”

 

“What happened in St. Petersburg. I- I panicked.” Otabek internally winced, because that had definitely not been in the script he and Chris had carefully cultivated. “I came to visit you to see you, and then you kept mentioning that we were friends and how much you liked that. I thought maybe you didn’t see me in a romantic sense, and I was willing to settle - ”

 

And now Yuri had graduated from embarassed and irate to incandescently irritated. “You were _willing to settle_ . _Zatk`nis! `Tchyo za ga`limaya huinya??_ Do we need to have a talk about self fucking esteem because that has to be the second most fucked up thing I’ve heard, the first being - no fuck that, _you were willing to settle_. What the actual fuck.”

 

“Yuri, that’s not the point. The point is _you kissed me and I froze_ .” Yuri looked taken aback, and Otabek took a moment to hope things were on the right path. “Then you avoided me for two days, _somehow_ , and then dodged me via text, and call, and skype. So I came to Chris’ wedding to give the longest speech of my life. To you. Because for every single one of those miles on the plane from St. Petersberg to Almaty, I regretted not kissing you back, and I need you to know that.”

 

The broad afternoon rays sank across the rocky ground between them and all there was to hear was the still slightly breathless Yuri breathing and the faint tinkle of bells. Then suddenly there was a whirl of air, and chapped lips pressed against his. It took a moment before Otabek realized, then he grabbed Yuri’s shoulders and kissed back. It was messy and sloppy and _perfect._

 

It was entirely too soon before Yuri disengaged, chest heaving harder than it had been previously, but this time he looked pleased. “So, I’m going to take this to mean you’re my boyfriend.”

 

“Yes.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> “Mon petit chaton" = My little kitten (French)
> 
> "mon chaton" = My kitten (French)
> 
> "mon petit chat" = my little cat (French)
> 
> "Po'shyol 'na hui" = Fuck off/ fuck you (Russian)
> 
> "chaton" = Kitten (French)
> 
> "Zatk`nis!" = Shut up! (Russian)
> 
> "Tchyo za ga`limaya huinya??" = What theactual fuck? (Russian)
> 
> The song lyrics:  
> Moskovskaya Lyubov (Love in Moscow)
> 
> On Moscow's quiet side streets  
> Of a winter's evening  
> How many times you and I wandered,  
> Were gay and were sad,  
> Quarreled,made peace and loved,  
> You and I - together.
> 
> On friendly Gogol Boulevard  
> An old bench.  
> On that bench we sat  
> Day after day, week after week,  
> Ever looking into each other's eyes  
> You and I.
> 
> The Park of Culture on a spring evening,  
> The first flowers,  
> I remember how you and I parted  
> How we embraced, kissed,  
> Promised to remember each other to the grave  
> I and you.
> 
> Evidently we will never have the chance  
> To meet again.  
> Where you are and what's with you I don't know.  
> But I often remember  
> The ancient Moscow chimes  
> First love.
> 
>  
> 
> If any of these translations are incorrect, please let me know! (Many thanks to Kotohulk for the Russian translation corrections!!!)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
